


Viral

by Pyramyriad



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Team, Angst, Angst and Humor, Aquaman References, Batman References, Between Rage and Serenity, Biohazard | Resident Evil 2 Spoilers, Biohazard | Resident Evil References, Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance | BSAA, Birds, Blonde Superman, Bravo team - Freeform, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Character Study, Charity Event, Coffee, Costumes, Cyborg References, Death, Desert, Detective Comics, Drabble Collection, Dress Up, Eyes, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, For The Kids, G-Virus (Resident Evil), Game: Resident Evil 1, Game: Resident Evil 1 Remake (2002), Game: Resident Evil 2, Game: Resident Evil 2 Remake (2019), Game: Resident Evil 5, Game: Resident Evil 6, Game: Resident Evil Zero, God Complex, Green Lantern References, Herbology, Humor, Justice League References, Mission Fic, Missions Gone Wrong, Needles, Normal Life, Older Woman/Younger Man, PG67A/W, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Parody, Post-Resident Evil 2, Post-Resident Evil 5, Post-Resident Evil 6, Progenitor virus, R.P.D, Raccoon City, Raccoon City Police Department, Referenced Characters, Resident Evil 6 Spoilers, Romance, Rubber Ducks, S.T.A.R.S., Scarves, Sick Character, Silly, Sins of the Father, Snipers, Snow, Snow Day, Snow and Ice, Stupidity, Suggested Pairing, Superman References, T-Virus, The Flash references, This Is STUPID, Tricell, Umbrella Corporation, Undercover Missions, Uroboros, Virus, Weakness, Wonder Woman references, justice league - Freeform, leeches, multi-chapter, references, sand, syringes, training facility, weak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2020-11-26 12:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20930165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyramyriad/pseuds/Pyramyriad
Summary: A collection of one-shots set before, during and after the games, featuring various character studies, parodies and pairings.





	1. For Charity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This silly chapter is the result of reading _Justice League comics_ at the same time as playing _Resident Evil_.

The R.P.D office was hot, dimly lit and pokey when only half-full, so the entire Alpha Team left little room to even stretch. They gathered for an informal meeting, although not to go on any mission. Tonight was for charity – a costumed event, no less, to raise money for the local orphanage. As egotistical and despicable a man Irons was, even he couldn’t refuse to attend. Besides, such acts appeared good for his image and ambition to become Mayor of Raccoon City. Yet why he dragged the S.T.A.R.S into it nobody could understand.

After much deliberation, said group chose to dress as the Justice League. Wesker, naturally, was Superman; his arrogance wouldn’t let anybody else take that role. Chris dived in quickly as Batman, with much complaint from the other men. Fortunately, they managed to find contentment with their alternatives – Barry as Cyborg, Joseph the Flash…leaving Brad as Green Lantern.

Of course, Jill, being the lone female, was stuck with Wonder Woman. She stared at the garb with disdain – gauntlets, a low-cut bodice and skimpy hot pants – holding out her arms and reluctantly performing a twirl on command for the boys. “This is stupid. Remind me why we’re doing it.”

Burton grinned. “C’mon. It’s for kids.”

“Ugh, I know.”

“You look good,” Redfield approved, causing her expression to turn stormy – that had not been much of a compliment at all.

“Think it was Irons’ idea,” Frost added, leaning casually back in a chair.

“Sure it wasn’t Wesker’s?” Vickers piped in.

“Yeah…come to think of it, he _did_ insist on being Superman.” Chris pulled a bemused expression and several ideas coming to mind. “Hey, Wesker!”

The blonde stood to one side, adjusting his overly vibrant costume. At the booming voice, he glanced over from marking the piles of paperwork – it stopped for no man – and approached the rest of the team. “Yes?”

“Why’d you get to be Superman?”

“He’s the leader of the Justice League. I’m your boss. Put two and two together.”

“O-_kay_. What I meant was…you don’t really look like him.”

The Captain tilted his head to the left and gave a questioning look.

“Superman’s not _blonde_,” Redfield clarified.

“I know that.”

“Then why-?”

“You look more like the Flash,” Barry interjected.

Albert almost pouted. “I refuse to wear red spandex.”

Jill’s eyebrow rose. “Prefer the blue, huh?” She could tell he scowled, even behind his permanent dark sunglasses. She pointed at them. “Clark Kent wears specs. Since when does Superman?”

The Captain’s anger faded and he smirked. “Since he turned blonde.”

Chris rejected such logic. “Just take the damn things off for once!”

“Fine.” The grumpy countenance returned and Wesker cautiously removed said offending item, revealing his piercing blue eyes to the world. It was strange, to say the least, and nobody could help staring. “Stop it.”

“Hey, wouldn’t he be better as Aquaman? Looks more like him,” Barry chuckled, causing Joseph to burst into a coughing fit. The blonde’s face dropped, clearly displeased with the idea. Images of said male commanding sea life reduced the others to tears of laughter.

“You’re only complaining, ‘cause he beat you to it,” Redfield retorted, causing Burton to grumble.

“Shut up. You’ve got nothing to complain about, Batman.”

Joseph shrugged. “Least Wonder Woman looks like part, huh?”

“Yay, me,” she sarcastically responded.

Albert nodded approvingly. “Yes, she really has the build of an Amazonian.”

Mind taking a moment to absorb the insult, her eyes widened in realisation, before lunging towards him. With a shark’s grin, he darted away from her choking hands, although she refused to be left behind, and they darted around the room. The team observed. It was almost as good as a Warner Brothers cartoon.

Vickers suddenly frowned. “So, who _is_ Aquaman, anyway?”

It forced everyone to pause, even Jill with her hands tightly gripping Wesker’s throat, straddling him to the floor. With some reluctance, she loosened the grip, although remained sat atop her Captain, and attempted to figure out the identity of the last remaining Justice League member. Unless they found a member of Bravo, it couldn’t be anyone else…right?

With some difficulty, the Captain gently pushed said woman off his lap and rose to his feet, rubbing a sore throat. “I have that covered.”

Chris blinked. “Who?”

One Brian Irons entered, as if conjured by mere thought, thinning hair slicked back and an agonised expression on his face. The why became apparent when taking his appearance into account. He was clad in all-in-one, figure-hugging gold and blue latex, grasping a small, plastic trident in one hand. “I hate you.”


	2. Herbs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is inspired by a piece of fanart where Billy is staring at green and red herbs in his hands; above him is “red + green = rubber duck” and Rebecca grimacing at his side.

There were very few places in the training facility to stop and catch one’s breath; the pair fortunately located a space tucked away in one of the side rooms. They slumped against a wall and slid down to settle on the cold, hard floor. It was far from ideal, but an improvement over water-logged rooms, stained carpets or cool outside temperatures.

Billy thought this the best time to ask about something important. It became infuriating being incapable of combining herbs correctly and even more so by the fact he relied on Rebecca – although, considering it more, he possessed a lighter…and she seemed inept at setting objects alight. Perhaps not a skill to be proud of, yet he still managed to be. _Billy the arsonist._ Sounded weird.

Yet he didn’t air any of these thoughts and decided on simply enquiring about the initial topic. “Say…can you teach me something?”

She squinted, not particularly keen after some earlier questions of an inappropriate and dark, humorous nature about zombies and leeches. _How about another chance, huh? It might be worthwhile._ “Shoot.”

“Tell me what herbs do.”

_Unexpected. _But better. “Alright, I can do that.” A smile actually lit up the young woman’s face, despite their dour situation. “There’s basically two kinds – red and green. The green ones can heal you on their own, but the red ones have to be mixed with green to make any kind of healing item.”

“Er…”

“The red plant is useless _unless_ you mix it with a green plant into a fine powder. Then you can digest it. Understand now?”

“Sure, sure…I get it…” _I think._ He dismissively waved a hand. “Keep going.”

“Okay, so the green herb makes you a little better if you digest it as is, right? _Buuuut_ it’s more effective if you mix _multiple_ green herbs.”

“What, like a _super green_?”

“Sort of? You can mix two greens and feel much better than if only had one.”

“Huh. That does make sense, actually. And red plus red doing nothing either?”

“Nope. Must be red and green to work.”

Billy felt his brain was slowly comprehending and retaining the information, although he couldn’t be sure about the _practical_ side. With enough practice, perhaps. “Can I try this out next time we pick up some plants?”

Rebecca’s eyebrows rose, impressed by the apparent thirst for knowledge. “Of course! Just…let me guide your first time, okay?”

The man could have retorted with a double entendre, but decided instead to send her a silent message with raised eyebrows. As expected, her entire face glowed pink from embarrassment and she resisted softly thumping him on the arm. That would be a little _too _familiar and another reminder of how close they were becoming. _It’ll be over soon, he’ll be gone and I’ll meet up with the other S.T.A.R.S, who’re hopefully still walking…and not the walking dead…_

He then considered discussing one last thing before it came time for the pair to move on – not taught, rather discovered whilst rooting around the facility for notes. Mentions of another colour of plant his comrade hadn’t mentioned yet. “Got another question.”

“Ask away.”

“What does the blue herb do?”

“Blue…herb…” Rebecca had decided not to explain about that until he mastered the other combinations, purely not to further confuse him. Billy seemed a tad overwhelmed by the talk of greens and reds. She then noticed those moody eyes watching expectantly. _I don’t know what to say._

“Well? You gonna tell me or not?”

“I think we should leave that until you master the others.”

“I’m not an idiot,” he grumbled, staring at the patterned floor.

Against earlier judgement, she decided to affectionately pat his arm. “You are, but I’m still glad to have you here watching my back.”


	3. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This happens right after Wesker’s "death" in _Resident Evil 1_.

The first few moments of awakening were akin to a fish out of water. The air came in erratic gulps that burnt his lungs; slowly but surely, his breathing settled into a regular pattern. His heartbeat rhythmically thumped and the skin that had been punctured by the long, deadly claws of the Tyrant rapidly knit itself. The nerve endings in his fingers and toes tingled with pins and needles; when he experimentally twitched his limbs, it was replaced by a strange weightiness. As he attempted to sit upright, his muscles wouldn’t respond to his commands, and he frustratingly gave up after several tries. Evidently, more time was needed to adjust.

Whilst waiting for his body to catch up to his mind, he licked across his lower lip and tasted blood that belonged to what he had been before. It had a normal salty and slightly metallic tang. He idly wondered about the possibly interesting flavour of his new blood.

The pins and needles finally faded and he felt the rush of strength to every pore of his being. At last, he could move as wished.

Rising to his feet was initially clumsy and slow, a gloved hand grasping the nearest console for support. However, once upright, the heavy sensation eased and allowed him the full flexibility he formerly possessed. His head turned to observe his surroundings, pausing at the semi-reflective metal of the Tyrant’s tube and marvelling at the improved clarity of vision.

It was also at that moment of study that he jumped backwards, almost hitting the opposing wall; feline reflexes stopped that from occurring. The same, alarmed countenance stared back at him, although it possessed blood-red, dimly glowing eyes.

_That’ll take some getting used to._

Now comfortable with himself, he turned his attention to the next task – acquiring the data from Umbrella, then escaping the facility, before it all went up in a fireball. The others had clearly moved on, likely torn apart by the remaining loose B.O.Ws, although a part of him hoped they had survived, so he could relish their surprise at seeing a ghost.

_Maybe a “boo” would be appropriate._

The notion brought a smirk to Wesker’s lips, putting him in an even better mood, as he began accessing the computer that would ultimately make him a very rich man.


	4. For Charity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This happens before _Resident Evil 5_.

Within the console room overlooking the grand silos full of Uroboros, the leather-clad blonde leant over a desk, reading an old file recovered from the original Umbrella laboratory. His gloved fingers periodically flicked over pages to continue his perusal. Although having memorised every detail of the Progenitor virus already, it didn’t hurt to be thorough.

After blinking dry eyes, several words suddenly danced before him. The man forced himself to focus on said literature, although to no avail. Straightening up and raising a hand, he noticed the once-defined outline of a black glove blur. For anyone else, it would have merely been a sign of fatigue. _Normal_ people didn’t face the effects occurring within his body.

Swivelling on a heel, he turned away and headed out of the room, towards makeshift sleeping quarters.

There were three stages, indications that another dose of PG67A/W was due – blurred vision, shooting head pain and numbness. Wesker was unsure what followed, the agony never allowed beyond that point. In truth, he didn’t dare, fearful of the next stage. _To be afraid is to be weak._

The stifling heat of the surroundings offered little help, as the blonde scrambled through desks and drawers to locate the antidote. _Where the Hell is it?_ The attaché case had to be well-hidden, but moments such as these caused him to feel cursed.

Naturally, it sat in the last drawer that was impatiently tugged open. Feline optics settled upon the desired object for a moment, overcome with relief. And the timing couldn’t have been better; a sharp bolt of pain struck and a frustrated bestial growl ripped from his vocal chords. With a shake of the head in a pathetic effort to ease the headache, the man rose to his feet and placed the case onto the edge of a nearby bed. Inside sat a dozen hypodermic needles, although only one was needed.

The discomfort accelerated. Albert’s vision worsened, occasionally tinting with shades of orange and eyes itched, drained of their moisture. He reflexively rubbed, knowing only as an afterthought that it would do nothing. A single syringe was raised and observed with distaste, yet necessary to correct the imbalance. To regain that strength and speed.

_Which means you’re weak without the serum_, bit his cynical subconscious. _You were given __little more than a mild poison that will slowly destroy you from the inside._ He inwardly snarled the defeatist part of his mind that had reared its ugly head. _God cannot be weak._

The cap tugged off the hypodermic, the blonde tensed an arm. Needle punctured skin and the serum slipped into his veins. Rather dilapidated, he settled onto the bed and let the drug take effect, quickly lessening the pain and restoring his strength. With it, he truly felt himself once more.

_No. More than myself. Superior._


	5. Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A humorous piece revolving around Piers.

There is nothing more distasteful than sand.

The golden grains find their way into every nook and cranny, Piers’ clothes and hair – no matter how carefully he moves. Although it isn’t as if he rushes around the area and buries his head into the dunes, the man always appears that way after a desert mission. Boots are tugged off and enough sand pours out to fill an entire pit. It jams weapons, stings eyes and affects taste.

Yet, somehow, the sniper has discovered something just as bad, if not worse.

Snow.

A rather unbelievable statement at first glance. It is powdery and soft to tread, with the flavour of cool water when landing on the tongue. Nivans has no need to empty footwear or cringe because his hair matts and turns from brown to bronze. The white causes him to revert to a six year old and play – throwing balls, making figures or appreciating its pristine magic.

Those are the good aspects.

What the soldier has no love for is the temperature twenty below during a patrol or that a sweet songbird lands on a branch and a chunk of snow directly above him is disturbed, completely bypassing the blue scarf and leisurely sliding down the back of his neck. He cannot move from his position, a hazel eye peering through the sniper scope, desperate to maintain control of breathing and struggling with shivers.

At least sand is warm and dry. A scarf keeps most out of the mouth. Snow merely bleeds into the fabric and dampens it.

That is the day Piers amends his thought. There are _few _things more distasteful – and inconvenient – than sand.


	6. Scarf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Piers/Jill chapter that came to mind when considering how he got his lovely scarf.

A little jingle and vibration from the phone sat on Piers’ desk distracted him from his current task – paperwork. If knowing beforehand that the BSAA wanted forms filled in after every mission, he likely would have remained part of the special forces. At least, those were his feelings before meeting its colourful members.

Interruptions at work typically annoyed, yet today it came as a relief. Several hours of such a monotonous chore was causing him to lose the will to live. With eager fingers, he dropped the pen in his hand and reached for the mobile, sliding a thumb across its screen to check.

Hazel eyes widened. A text…from Jill.

_come out back_  
got something for you  
xx

Despite being mature and rather reserved, the man struggled to maintain decorum when it came to her. The simple message caused his heartbeat to accelerate. He wasted no time finishing up work, before rising from the chair and collecting his belongings. Wrapping up in a several layers of clothing, including a coat, leather gloves and woolly hat, Nivans then headed downstairs, out of the office through the rear exit and into the bitter cold.

Just as expected, Valentine waited. The low temperatures had drained her already pale skin of colour, although nose, cheeks and lips were even pinker. Her dark hair provided a stark contrast, hanging loose. It was commonly in a low ponytail and brushed back. Blue eyes sparkled with anticipation.

The sniper futilely fought a grin creeping across his face. It amused her how that smile lit up his youthful face. _Like a kid at Christmas._ The feeling was mutual, although they hadn’t dated for long and didn’t yet know one another’s quirks. _Not to mention I haven’t exactly had good luck with guys._ She quickly banished the negative thought. _He’s different._

“Come on, then. What’s going on that you dragged me from paperwork?” Piers asked.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Jill replied. “A gift. Was saving it for later, but I think you need a break. All that paper-pushing.”

“You’re right about that.”

When she made no move, he grew impatient and stepped closer, prepared to grab the present from her. She retreated a step, bursting into laughter.

“Seriously…you’ve gotta calm down. You’ll get it.”

“Okay, fine. But just come on and show me already.”

She decided on having tortured him enough and hooked something long out of her coat pocket. It was patterned and a strange shade of dark brown-green.

“A scarf?” He inwardly cursed the obvious statement, then worried that his raised eyebrows and voice tone sounded disappointed to the woman’s ears.

“You’re observant,” she retorted, causing him to sigh.

Piers struggled to express his gratitude, voice emerging as soft and awkward. “Thanks.”

She approached, boots crunching on the snow-covered ground, then hooked the scarf over his head and carefully wound it around his neck in a tidy knot. He stared downward and experimented to make it more comfortable. _His new toy._

“I like it,” Nivans whispered. Truthfully, that had been an understatement. _Adore_ was more like it…even more so coming from her. His cheeks darkened, so he nudged both chin and mouth into the fabric in an attempt to hide any embarrassment.

“Good,” Valentine purred, before reaching a hand to hold his head in place and pressing a butterfly kiss to his lips. The sniper responded as she knew he would; initially hesitant and slowly warming up to the affection.

It was brief and, when they parted, she shivered.

“We should get in the warm.” He still sounded a tad dazed, but possessed enough presence of mind for the next suggestion. “Not the office. Somewhere more private.”

The woman outstretched an arm and gripped his hand with her own, pulling so they began trudging through the mild blizzard. Whatever he had in mind, it hopefully involved a great deal more physical contact.


	7. Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set somewhere between _Resident Evil 5_ and _6_.

Coffee was hardly a peculiar beverage first thing in the morning, and certainly not the way the sniper made it, yet Jill found herself staring – albeit not at the act itself. She expected him to choose black and bitter, not two sugars with plenty of milk. Even after months of spending time in one another’s company, the woman continued to be perplexed by his many little quirks.

Cup to his lips, he immediately froze upon catching those pale optics observing his actions, before turning to face her. _Probably wants me to spit everywhere._ Determined as when on the battlefield, the man refused to be discouraged from drinking.

Valentine’s voice filled the silence. “So, you’re a milky boy?”

Piers began spluttering and lowered the beverage, struggling to recall how to breathe and swallow correctly. Her wolfish grin didn’t help in the slightest. “What’s _wrong_ with you?”

She released a chuckle, causing him to scowl. True to form, he became defensive, which always occurred whenever her mischievous side reared its head. The male could be too staid sometimes, although most of that likely came from enjoying the attention and coercing her into making fun of him.

“I like my coffee sweet and light…so what?”

_Just like you,_ Jill thought, although stopped herself short of speaking it aloud. “Just amused.”

“Why?”

“You act all mature, _years_ beyond your age. Then suddenly do something like a kid.”

If anything, Nivans grew _more_ defensive. “Plenty of adults have coffee this way.”

A slim, dark eyebrow rose. _Is he actually taking this seriously? _“_Relax_. I’m teasing.” Based on said disposition, it appeared she struck a nerve. “Now you just look _old_.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Oh, come on. I wanted to compliment you. Can’t do that when you’re brooding.”

“I don’t brood.”

“Uh-huh.”

He swallowed, before squinting. “What compliment?”

“About your age,” Jill responded, receiving a snort in response. “You don’t want one?”

The sniper was doing his best to act disinterested and continue pouting, even averting his eyes, based on the assumption that coffee was far more fascinating. Yet curiosity wouldn’t be denied. Daring a quick glance towards the brunette, he found her mouth curved into a victorious smirk. _Damn it. _“Fine, tell me.”

She approached, hand outstretched to fiddle with a tuft of his fringe, causing his cheeks to flush a light shade of pink. “You’re an old soul in a young man’s body.”

“Wait. You still making fun of me?”

“No.” Valentine pitched forward and pressed a kiss to the male’s cheek; the latter’s countenance only darkened to beetroot. “I like you as you are. Don’t change.”

Mood lightening, a smirk crept across his lips and an arm looped around her back to pull his comrade closer into an awkward embrace. “You think I’d change?”

“Nope, and that’s what I like about you.”

With a free hand, Piers lifted the mug to his lips and sipped. Her words seemed something worth toasting, even if only with coffee.


	8. Normality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set post-_Resident Evil 6_ and could happen before Sherry and Jake part ways in their story’s epilogue or as some kind of reunion that happens later.

_Normal._ The last word Sherry associated with family. The Birkins lacked a motto that involved caring, sharing and understanding. Her childhood had been lonely and cold, with workaholic parents Hell-bent on self-destruction. She sometimes laid awake at night, wondering if there was any point to them having a child…beyond continuing their legacy. That came before the G-Virus created yet more chaos.

Accelerated healing and various other abilities afforded by the infection – received when only a little girl and courtesy of her own father, no less – made the blonde feel like a lab rat, a freak show for the entire world to point at.

She was grateful for the assignment in Edonia, even as it became a war zone. Retreating from Simmons (prior to learning he masterminded everything) and the others at headquarters offered her a chance to breathe. After all that happened, she didn’t regret anything. There were also unexpected, pleasant moments, brief respites within the devastation and chaos brought by the C-Virus.

Described as a repeat of Raccoon City, it wasn’t alone this time; Jake was at her side the entire way, his presence a Godsend. The journey had been tough for him, dwarfing even her own problems. To discover that he was none other than the son of Albert Wesker…it hurt, no matter how aloof and uncaring the twenty year old attempted to act. Empathy washed over her at that revelation.

With the world saved again, Muller remained confused, angry and in great pain, although she hoped less that reality had chance to sink in. Sherry was there to offer him comfort, somebody to trust and cling to. Sticking together, the pair could isolate themselves from judgement or worries of being locked up and experimented on by the government. They felt strong and free. _Normal._


End file.
